PAUL WILLIAMS

de la sculpture selon les termes pionniers d’Igor
Kopytoff. On peut toutefois se sentir mal à l’aise
devant l’insistance de l’auteur sur certains points,
que ce soit par rapport au choix initial du site, au rôle
de la députée d’Hochelaga-Maisonneuve et ministre
responsable de la métropole, ou face à l’opposition
quasi-manichéenne entre riches et pauvres, entre
déménageurs et dépossédés. Enfin, on aurait aimé
que l’ouvrage soit davantage illustré. Il aurait en
effet été intéressant d’utiliser des photos d’archives
pour mieux comprendre l’installation de l’oeuvre au
stade olympique ou encore la monumentalité de la
sculpture pour un lecteur non montréalais.
Au cours des dernières décennies, des citoyens
sont intervenus, de plus en plus nombreux sur
la place publique, pour questionner des projets
d’aménagement urbain ou condamner le laxisme
des autorités envers la préservation du patrimoine.
Avec Les folles vies de La Joute de Riopelle, on
quitte un domaine habituellement occupé par
l’architecture ou l’urbanisme pour celui, moins
fréquenté, de l’art public. En ce sens, l’ouvrage
de Keable remplit un vide important. Il démontre
aussi, encore une fois, l’importance de la parole
citoyenne dans les débats publics. C’est souvent elle
qui, face à une menace, révèle la valeur des lieux
pour en faire de véritables objets de patrimoine,
c’est-à-dire désirés et appartenant symboliquement à la collectivité. C’est véritablement lors de
la polémique du déplacement de l’œuvre que les
résidents de quartier Hochelaga-Maisonneuve, puis
les Montréalais, prirent conscience de la présence
de la sculpture de Riopelle. Il sera cependant
trop tard car ce sont aujourd’hui les touristes qui
goûtent la poésie de l’ensemble monumental.
L’ouvrage soulève un autre point douloureux dans
la gestion du patrimoine montréalais, celui du legs
des Jeux olympiques de 1976. Après le départ des
équipes sportives professionnelles, que ce soit les
Alouettes vers le stade Percival-Molson ou les
Expos vers Washington, le déménagement de La
Joute ne serait-il pas simplement un autre épisode
du feuilleton qui a débuté au lendemain des Jeux ?
La mauvaise fortune critique des installations
olympiques aura-t-elle encore une fois eu raison
de la pérennité de l’œuvre architecturale qu’elle
représente ? L’aventure de La Joute semble
démontrer que oui.
PAUL WILLIAMS
Review of
Jones, Roy and Brian J. Shaw, eds. 2007. Geographies of Australian Heritages: Loving a Sunburnt
Country? Aldershot, UK: Ashgate Publishing.
Pp. 231, hardcover, ISBN: 978-0754648581, $ 99.95.
Geographies of Australian Heritage, by Roy Jones
and Brian Shaw, is another superb contribution
to a growing geographical literature on heritage
issues.1 And yet, while this volume in the series
Heritage, Culture and Identity is conceptualized
by geographers, it is much more than just a simple
geographical analysis. We need only glance at
the vitae of the contributors to realise the multidisciplinary nature of this volume. Geographers
are joined by other academics and heritage industry
professionals, who each lend a specialist’s eye to the
current specificities and complexities of Australian
heritage. Their contributions also reveal that
heritage is now highly integrated into discussions
of tourism, sustainable development, the natural
environment and cultural identity.
76 As becomes immediately apparent in
Geographies of Australian Heritage, Australia’s is
a rich and complex heritage: a diverse continental
ecological base accompanied by a plurality of
Indigenous cultures and an intricate blend of
colonial and modern immigrants. Consequently,
that heritage is often embroiled in highly charged
political discussions of “whose heritage” and
“which heritage” should be privileged? Moreover, it
has also had to address former injustices, recognising the unique and under-represented past of its
Indigenous peoples and reconciling their heritage(s)
with those of settler populations. As Graeme Aplin’s
opening chapter also reveals, heritage continues
to struggle against policies which stress models
of growth and development and view it as a mere
“intangible” in cost-benefit analyses.
Material Culture Review 69 (Spring 2009) / Revue de la culture matérielle 69 (printemps 2009)
Jurisdiction over Australian heritage is,
therefore, both complex and must be negotiated at
a number of different scales. Aplin explores two
domains of heritage policy: national—through
layers of Commonwealth, State and Municipal legislation as well as community-based populist/public
activism; and global, in cases in which Australia
has made its mark in terms of policy creation. He
presents a concise discussion of the origins and role
of the World Heritage Convention and the processes
and responsibilities of the identification of natural
and cultural properties in which Australia has been
recognised as a global leader. Excellent vignettes of
Australia’s sixteen World Heritage Sites provide the
background for Aplin’s assessment of the country’s
evolving heritage record.
While recognizing that heritage ranks well
below development, growth, progress and the
economy in national priorities, Aplin argues that
this is exacerbated by the way natural, Indigenous,
and non-indigenous cultures are considered in
separate silos, whereas, in cultural reality, they are
often inseparable. Reconciling these realities has
often been fraught with complications—made more
difficult by the fact that, as Logan later points out,
heritage issues must “embrace intangible values
of places and help to achieve more holistic and
culturally sensitive approaches to environmental
understanding and protection” (221). In short,
heritage protection must expand beyond its
predominant focus on the tangible and, following
the global/UNESCO model, must extend that
protection to the “country’s intangible cultural
heritage” (208). Yet, ironically, a model already
exists in the way in which Indigenous Australians
have long explained their profound connection
to places through such intangibles as memories,
stories, practices of survival and long continuity
of occupation. Thus, rather than merely attempting to incorporate the verities of the Indigenous
experience into the Australian story as another step
towards “reconciliation” (Aplin 10), their profound
sense of their heritage can serve as a paradigm for a
“time-nature-culture-story” approach for all of us.
The relationship between Australian Indigenous
heritage and the land is further explored by Nicholas
Gill and Alistair Paterson. But they show that a
full understanding of Australia’s “pastoral cultural
heritage” is impossible because of the elision of
Aboriginal people from the story, whereas the
truth is that a complex relationship existed between
Aboriginal people and settlers on the land. Similarly,
Wendy Shaw’s analysis of the modern, urbanised
Indigene shows him removed from mainstream
society, a subject “locked” in an archaeological
past. Her study of Sydney’s Indigenous community
raises an essential paradox: “Indigenous heritage,
as archaeological and exotic, is glorified and
revered” but “Postcolonial Indigenous heritage
remains largely out of place within the expanding
understanding of heritage, particularly in urban
contexts” (108).
On the other hand, as C. M. Hall explains,
despite, or because of, being among the world’s
most urbanized places, iconic images of Australian
identity remain those of the bush, the outback, and
the “wild colonial boy.” Certainly, these are the
images of nation adopted by the tourist industry
in its “branding” of the quintessential Australian
personality. Hall explores these notions in the
emergence of the concept of wilderness heritage and
in policy shifts over two centuries which have seen
it evolve from being viewed as a worthless place,
to a valuable recreational resource and, finally, to
a key environment requiring protection. Hall notes
that as “the frontier of economic development and
environmental exploitation advances, even the more
remote wilderness areas and parks and reserves are
threatened by material interests” (53). Recognizing
that in a development-driven economic climate
“ecology and aesthetics are secondary considerations in the decision making process” (53), Hall
sees some promise in that wilderness areas benefit
from concerns regarding climate change, the benefits of carbon sinks, evolutionary and ecological
refuges, and a growing awareness that “wilderness
constitutes a significant cultural heritage as well
as a natural heritage” (54). Indeed, he sees some
potential in the economic rationale of wilderness
tourism as “a justification for wilderness conservation” (46).
Marion Hercock, a tourism professional,
continues the exploration of wilderness tourism
with an excellent micro-scale case-based analysis
which touches on several key issues including the
delicate interplay between heritage as a commodity
and its continued protection and sustainability.
Likewise, Roy Jones, Colin Ingram and Andrew
Kingham offer another fine example of the
contested relationships between heritage, tourism,
land use and economic development. Through a
clever parody of the iconic characters in the beloved
Waltzing Matilda narrative the authors show how
“countryside cultures” have become commodified
in a “shift from a productive to a post-productive
socio-economic emphasis” (79). As part of this
Material Culture Review 69 (Spring 2009) / Revue de la culture matérielle 69 (printemps 2009) 77
“multifunctional rural transition,” key factors have
emerged, including: changing social values; new
cultural practices; agricultural overcapacity; rise
of alternative, amenity-oriented rural land-uses.
Within a changing cultural and economic landscape
comes the question of how best to preserve the
varied qualities of an area (i.e., scientific, ecological, historical/cultural and aesthetic) while making
it economically viable. Again they raise a point
made by Hercock and others that conservation of
the natural and cultural heritage must be considered
in the context of economic development and
revenue generation. In the latter instance, heritage
attractions may be tied into tourist expectations:
“Conservation of these attractions ... preserves
an environment which tourists seek to consume
and expenditure by these tourists fuels the area’s
(productive) economy” (93). Moreover, as Jones et
al suggest, in some areas, tourism has become “a far
more significant revenue generator and employer”
than traditional land uses, such as agriculture.
Heritage commodification in the service of
economic development—especially tourism—is
further explored by M. W. Roffe and H. P. M.
Winchester in their analysis of Southern Australia’s
Germanic heritage and, in particular, the idyllic place
making at Lobethal. In the latter instance, they show
how the village has survived periods of religious
conflict, racial exclusion, economic depression,
anti-German sentiment and the closure of its major
industry in the 1980s. Out of economic necessity,
it has been forced to redefine itself, focusing on its
Germanic heritage and traditions, in particular its
Christmas Festival of Lights; a “social construction” created around “a specific form of rural idyll
place making” (133), in contrast with many of the
past, contested narratives of the place.
Similar concerns are found in three Perth based
case studies: A. C. Kennewell and B. J. Shaw’s
study of the problems associated with preserving
Perth’s VIIth British Empire and Commonwealth
Games heritage; Roy Jones’ discussion of how
Freemantle’s roles as port, service, entertainment
and tourism centre influence/challenge planning
and celebration of city’s considerable rich built-heritage; and Rosemary Rosario’s review of heritage
listing in Subiaco. Common to all three analyses
is the problem of finding a balance between preservation values, costs and economic development.
Kennewell and Shaw argue that, “implicit here, as in
all cases of heritage identification and conservation,
are the fundamental questions of who decided and
who pays? Herein are found the inevitable qualities
78 of self-interest, divisiveness and contestation that
define the heritage industry” (163). A balance is,
therefore, not always easy to achieve and, in some
instances, the democratic voice struggles to be
heard in the decision-making processes. Such was
the case following the release of Subiaco’s heritage
inventory review in March 2002. Amid great public
criticism of the process there were questions raised
as to who defines heritage, what price heritage and
what are the rights of property owners? In addressing such questions, Rosario found, it became clear
that greater attention needed to be paid to local
needs and priorities; “the history of our everyday
lives, homes, neighbourhoods is important”; heritage sites are not static places or museums; and,
finally, “the heritage message should be clearer,
easier to understand, more consistent and above
all balanced” (204).
In his conclusions, Logan calls for a geographical agenda that strives to “draw out the meanings
and ironies of our ‘Sunburnt Country’” (221). His
analysis further stresses the important role heritage plays in “Australian cultural politics” (207).
Jan Assman has written elsewhere that, “through
its cultural heritage a society becomes visible to
itself and to others. Which past becomes evident
in that heritage and which values emerge in its
identificatory appropriation, tells us much about
the constitution and tendencies of a society” (1998).
This is no more apparent than in the example of
an Australian heritage which has struggled to
accept, or overcome, a certain roguish past. The
“swagman,” the “bush man,” the trooper and even
the fictitious character, Crocodile Dundee, are all
images which have come to be associated with a
national mystique and a mythological past. Even the
convict, long seen as a less than desirable historical
figure, has seen himself romanticised in the name of
heritage. On the other hand, a more official heritage
has recently emphasised the nation’s military past.
On this issue, Logan quotes from Marilyn Lake’s
article in the August 20, 2005 issue of The Age.
Lake writes that Gallipoli is seen by some as the
defining moment when “real Australian history”
began. It is deemed to be the defining moment
“when Australian men joined the first Australian
Imperial Force to fight overseas—not so much, it
seems, for God and Empire as old memorials still
somewhat embarrassingly insist—but for modern
Australian freedom.” A sentiment which continues
to be echoed in the valorisation of Australia’s other
military contributions—World War II, Malaysia,
Korea, Vietnam, the Gulf and, currently, Iraq.
Material Culture Review 69 (Spring 2009) / Revue de la culture matérielle 69 (printemps 2009)
Such selective heritage builds around core
Australian metanarratives of nation-building,
shapes future policy and gives us a glimpse of the
current “constitution and tendencies” of a particular
vision of the nation (219). The solution, Logan
believes, lies in an ability “to define heritage widely
and inclusively and to avoid narrow interpretations of Australia’s history and heritage based on
the views of the ‘dominant’ social and political
group.” “Minority voices,” he believes, “whether
Indigenous or immigrant, must be incorporated in
the formation of Australian identity” (220). Ideally,
the terms Indigenous and non-indigenous (as well as
the deliberately provocative term, Exogenous!) will
disappear and all will be considered as Australians
with varying degrees of seniority!
Why then is this volume a “superb study”?
Maybe because it attempts to address so many
issues which remain problematic in defining the
“Sunburnt Country.” In so doing, it covers extensive
ground in establishing the overarching ideological
and attitudinal contexts of Australian heritage, or
heritages as the title of the book quite rightly notes.
In addition, it demonstrates superbly the praxis of
heritage strategies in rich case studies. While its
focus is the Australian situation, this book should
be recommended reading for all with an interest in
complex heritages.
Note
Assman , Jan. 1998. Collective Memory and Cultural Identity.
New German Critique 65 (Spring/Summer): 125-33.
1. See, for example, Graham, Ashworth and Tunbridge (2000);
Ashworth, Graham Tunbridge (2007); Fairclough et al.
(2008); Graham and Howard (2008).
References
Ashworth, G. J., Brian Graham, J. E. Tunbridge. 2007. Pluralising Pasts: Heritage, Identity and Place in Multicultural
Societies . London: Pluto Press.
Fairclough, Graham et al. (eds.) 2008. The Heritage Reader.
London: Routledge.
Graham, Brian and Peter Howard. 2008. The Ashgate Research Companion to Heritage and identity. London: Ashgate.
Graham, Brian, Gregory Ashworth and John Tunbridge
(2000) A Geography of Heritage: Power, Culture and the
Economy. London: Arnold.
Yves Laberge
Compte rendu de
Gerta Moray. 2006. Unsettling Encounters: First Nations Imagery in the Art of Emily Carr. Vancouver,
Toronto et Seattle: UBC Press et University of Washington Press.
Pp. xiv + 386, ISBN:
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75,00 $.�
Ce livre d’art avec jaquette présente les œuvres
d’une éminente artiste canadienne, Emily Carr
(1871-1945), en se concentrant sur ses toiles
inspirées par le monde autochtone de l’Ouest
canadien. Artiste polyvalente ayant surtout travaillé
en Colombie-Britannique au début du XXe siècle,
Emily Carr a peint une multitude de portraits, des
paysages, des aquarelles, et s’est pour ainsi dire
spécialisée dans les représentations de totems.
Pour ce faire, Emily Carr a maintes fois visité
la côte ouest de la Colombie-Britannique entre
1899 et 1933, choisissant souvent pour modèles
de véritables totems qu’elle peignait ensuite sous
forme de toiles ou d’aquarelles. Comme le titre
l’indique, ce livre rend compte de la manière dont
Emily Carr a saisi, reproduit et jusqu’à un certain
point réinterprété à sa manière des œuvres d’art
déjà existantes, tout comme Picasso avait peint en
1957 sa propre vision des Ménines de Vélasquez
(1656), qu’il a revisitées dans une cinquantaine de
tableaux selon un style cubiste. Ici, Gerta Moray
étudie le processus créatif selon une approche
théorique plus proche de l’histoire de l’art que de
l’anthropologie. Toutefois, la documentation est
excellente et madame Moray a considéré diverses
études présentant des perceptions et des jugements
assez divergents sur l’art d’Emily Carr et qui lui
attribuent diverses étiquettes, allant du naturalisme
à l’exotisme, en passant par le « modernisme » (14)
et le « baroque » (15).
Material Culture Review 69 (Spring 2009) / Revue de la culture matérielle 69 (printemps 2009) 79